After Too Late
by Alydia Rackham
Summary: After the close of a case goes horribly wrong, and Patrick Jane is presumed dead, Lisbon is forced to confront her feelings for him—an emotional struggle that builds to a stunning conclusion.
1. Chapter 1

_PLEASE review, and tell me if I should keep going!_

_VVVVVVV_

After "Too Late"

"Your part of the case is finished."

"Wait, what?"

Lisbon glanced over at Jane, who had objected. Hightower crossed her arms and leaned back against her desk, addressing Jane.

"You heard me."

Jane raised his eyebrows and gestured in exasperation.

"The killer is right there—sitting _right _there, and we're not sure yet what he's planning and you're taking us off the case?"

"Yes," Hightower shot back. "Because we _do _know what he's planning—he said so. He wants the money by tomorrow noon, and if anyone tries to break in, he'll blow the building. It's a hostage situation with explosives set throughout a building. That calls for a SWAT team and a bomb squad, not an analyst."

Lisbon closed her eyes hard, then opened them. She winced. She was beginning to get a migraine. It had to be past midnight. She felt Hightower's gaze on her and drew herself up.

"Lisbon," Hightower said. "You guys can go home and get some rest. You'll get a call if anything happens."

"Okay. Thanks." Normally, Lisbon would have fought it. But her whole back ached and she could barely keep her eyes open. She turned and pushed through the office door and trailed out into the hall.

"Hey. Where are you going?" Jane trotted up beside her. Her brow furrowed.

"Um, home."

"What? You're seriously going to give up that easily?"

Lisbon frowned up at him. His blue eyes looked just as bright as ever, and not one blonde hair was out of place. Man, he was irritating.

"I'm not giving up," she retorted. "But in case you haven't noticed, we've all been awake for _seventy-two _hours. If I don't get some sleep soon I'm just gonna collapse, okay?"

"Okay, okay," he backed up, holding up his hands, his eyes twinkling. He started to head back toward his couch area. She stopped walking.

"Hey, where are _you _going?"

He spun back around, looking innocent.

"Oh, I'm just going to hang out here in the office for a while."

Lisbon narrowed her eyes.

"You're going to _stay_ in the office?"

"Yeah," he said easily. "Lie on the couch, get some thinking done." He grinned at her as he started walking again. "Have fun sleeping."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and moaned, then dragged herself to the elevator. She was amazed at herself, but she eventually did make it back home and into her bed. She didn't even remember her head hitting the pillow.

VVVVVVVVVV

Lisbon jerked awake, heart pounding, and slapped her hand down on her ringing cell phone. She flipped it open and put it to her ear while squinting at the glowing red numbers on her clock. It was three in the morning.

"What? What is it?" she gasped into the phone, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Lisbon! You're awake." Jane said, as cheerful as if he was ready for afternoon tea.

"I was _not_ awake," she growled. "Don't you know what time—"

"Sorry, wasn't paying attention. I did actually get some thinking done."

Lisbon sighed and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

"And?"

"And I'm heading over there."

She opened her eyes.

"Over here?"

"No, over to the warehouse."

Lisbon straightened, realizing that she heard road noise in the background.

"Why?" she demanded._ "_Jamison said he'd blow up the building if anyone attempted to break in."

"I don't believe him," Jane said. "He's reckless and greedy but not suicidal. He'll have a back door. And I know exactly what to do to lay a trap outside that door."

"And you're willing to bet your life on that," Lisbon said flatly.

"There's no betting involved. It's a sure thing. Just get everybody ready and I'll hand him to you on a silver platter."

She sighed.

"I'll make a call."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and by the way—"

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

"You _hate _me?" The surprise in Jane's voice rang in her ear.

"Yes," she stated. "Do you ever consider anyone besides yourself?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Hightower told you not to do anything—she told you to get some rest. And _I _was actually _getting _rest for the first time in _weeks_, and you call me up in the middle of the night to make me do a job that is meant for a SWAT team. Do you have any concept of how difficult you make my life?"

"Sorry you feel that way," Jane said lightly. "Here's my exit. See you soon."

She hung up on him. Then she threw the phone across the room, tossed off her covers and angrily put her clothes back on.

VVVVVVVVVVV

"Okay, what's the situation?" Lisbon muttered to a SWAT member guarding the perimeter of the warehouse. The old, abandoned warehouse stood on a field of weed-ridden gravel. Its walls were rusty and its windows covered. But it was a big, menacing building, and eerie in the gray morning light. Lisbon stood with the SWAT member in the shadows of the tall trees that surrounded the gravel field.

"The rest of our team is positioned all the way around the gravel, and we're waiting for the negotiator to get here," the SWAT member answered through his helmet. Lisbon nodded, studying the building.

Foliage crunched behind her and she turned. Cho, dark circles under his eyes, approached and nodded at her.

"Anybody got a twenty on Jane?" Lisbon asked him. Cho shook his head.

"No. Nobody's seen him. But his car was found parked about half a mile south of here, and—" Cho stopped as his phone buzzed. He put it to his ear. His eyes flashed.

"Jane?"

Lisbon stepped closer to him. Cho's brow darkened.

"You're an idiot," Cho said.

"What?" Lisbon asked. Cho didn't look at her.

"Did you take anybody with you in there?" he asked Jane.

Lisbon's chest tightened.

"He's _in _there?"

"Why didn't you?" Cho asked him. "You've got an entire SWAT team out…No, everybody's here. No, we're not doing anything, we're waiting for—"

"Let me talk to him—" Lisbon reached out for the phone.

"Lisbon wants to talk to you. Yes, I told her your car—"

She didn't know how she knew. Long years in law enforcement, perhaps. But the back of her neck tingled, and she whirled around just in time—

To see the warehouse explode.

The blinding flash dazzled her vision just an instant before the hammering thunder of the blast crushed her in the chest and sent her reeling backward. She fell to the ground and threw her arms over her head.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she could hear nothing else. Leaves and twigs scratched her face. Haze smothered her. A gloved hand grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. She blinked hard, over and over, until her eyes cleared enough to see the roiling, wicked flames and pitch black smoke billowing into the air.

"Jane?" she rasped. Her voice clawed her throat. The SWAT member who had dragged her to her feet guided her to a tree, then raced off. Every sound still slurred. Her head spun. She leaned her hands against the rough bark of the tree, staring at the tumbling pieces of hot metal and the laughing flames.

She began to shake, and felt as if she might be sick. She blinked, her thoughts blank. Her lips moved of their own accord.

"Jane…"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews! They keep me going! More, more! _

_VVVVVV_

"It should be cooled down enough now, Lisbon. We can take a look. Lisbon. _Lisbon_."

"What?" Lisbon's head jerked up. She couldn't seem to focus her eyes, but she made out the impression of Hightower standing next to her. Lisbon pulled herself up from her sitting position on the ground, but her legs shook.

"Yeah. Sure."

She could feel Hightower's frown.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yeah," Lisbon's voice sounded distant and hollow, even to herself. "Not like I've never lost a colleague before. It just means it's more important that we find out what's really going on here."

Hightower's keen black eyes penetrated her, but Lisbon felt nothing. In fact, it was like she was reciting out of a field manual. Hightower started forward, her heels crunching on the white gravel. Lisbon took a step to follow her.

Just then, all the noises of the place hit her: SWAT team members shouting to each other. Cops exchanging reports, footsteps in the forest, firemen spraying water on parts of the wreckage that still smoldered—the sparks hissed and steamed—the wail of approaching ambulances…

And then the smells. Burned C4, melted plastic, gasoline and charred wood. And seared flesh.

She swayed.

"Hightower," she mumbled.

"Crap, Lisbon," came the answering mutter, and the next moment, two firm hands grabbed Lisbon's elbow and shoulder. "You clearly can't be here."

"I'm fine," Lisbon tried, but her voice came out as a whisper.

"No you're not. And I don't expect you to be. None of the rest of your team will go near that building." Hightower's voice softened. "I'll have one of the officers take you home."

Lisbon tried to object again. But her stomach rolled and her eyes forced themselves closed, so she only nodded, and allowed herself to be escorted away.

VVVVVV

"Let me off at the office."

"But Hightower said—"

"Do it," Lisbon commanded. Without another word, the officer turned the police car down a different street, and pulled up in front of the CBI offices. Lisbon shoved the car door open and got out. The sounds of the city all around her felt as if they were a thousand miles away. Even her own footsteps seemed silent. She trailed in the front door and on into the elevator. For some reason, no music played as she ascended. The hum of the machinery was low and deep.

When she reached her floor, the offices were abandoned. She stopped in the doorway and gazed through the silent rooms, hearing only the tick of a clock, and the occasional beep of a message waiting on a machine. With slow footsteps, she wandered between the desks, absently running her fingers across their smooth surfaces, glancing at the personal effects resting on each of them as the gold morning hesitated through the windows.

Her fingertips trailed over Van Pelt's desktop, and she stopped there, gazing ahead of her. She swallowed.

There was Jane's brown leather couch, traces of sunlight hitting it—the place where he could always be found if he wasn't trailing after Lisbon or getting into some sort of trouble. But what made her heart go still was the fact that, in the cushy leather, she could see the imprint of him: where he had laid his head, where his back had been, his heels on the cushion at the other end, and where he had used his elbow to push off and get up to head off to the warehouse.

Her throat closed and her chest constricted. She shuffled toward the couch and just stood there for a long moment, gazing at his outline…

And feeling as hollow as it was.

She reached out a trembling hand and rested it on the armrest where his head had been. She stroked her hand back and forth on the leather, and sucked in a breath. Memory made her close her eyes.

_"What? What is it?" _

_ "Lisbon! You're awake."_

_ "And?"_

_ "And I'm heading over there."_

_ "Over here?"_

_ "No, over to the warehouse."_

His voice sounded so clear in her head, as if he was standing at her shoulder. She bit her lip and forced her eyes open, but her vision was hazy. She glanced around at the empty room. A tremor ran through her.

Without thinking, she shakily kicked off her shoes, crawled onto the couch and sank down into his imprint. She curled up in a tight ball on her side, wrapping her arms around her chest and resting her head on the armrest, right where his head had been.

"_Jamison said he'd blow up the building if anyone attempted to break in."_

_ "I don't believe him. He's reckless and greedy but not suicidal. He'll have a back door. And I know exactly what to do to lay a trap outside that door."_

_ "And you're willing to bet your life on that."_

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the quivering in her muscles—but a new sensation flooded her. The couch smelled like him. It was a classy yet simple cologne that she had never smelled on anyone else. Shocked, she gasped, but then drew in another breath, then another. Waves of remembrance washed through her—his firm but gentle hold on her hand as he led her out to the dance floor, his quiet, knowing smile and that bright flicker in his eyes; the way his arm slid around her and pulled her against his chest, close enough that she could feel his heartbeat against hers; the way she could easily tuck her head against his neck as his warmth surrounded her. For once, he had not been sarcastic, or even conversational. He had just held her, enveloped her, in a way that could never smother her, but made her feel secure. Safe. And as they had danced, she had not really thought of his cologne—but it had found a home in her subconscious, and it was inexorably laced with the memory of his arms around her.

_"Oh, and by the way—"_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "I hate you."_

Lisbon pulled in a ragged breath and pressed her face against the armrest. His scent was drowning her, but she nuzzled deeper into the couch, trying to regain that safe, warm feeling again. It fled from her. Her eyes stung. She fought the lump in her throat. But her brow knotted, and scalding tears escaped, sliding down her cheeks.

_"You hate me?"_

_ "Yes."_

Pain ripped through Lisbon's chest. She jerked into a sitting position, her breath rasping. She gripped the leather with both hands, struggling to keep breathing, her eyes burning, tears searing her face. She choked, and in a swell of panic, horror and disbelief, she began to sob.

"_Hightower told you not to do anything—she told you to get some rest. And I was actually getting rest for the first time in weeks, and you call me up in the middle of the night to make me do a job that is meant for a SWAT team. Do you have any concept of how difficult you make my life?"_

Broken, she leaned over and rested her forehead on his armrest, taking in another trembling breath. The pain spread out, down to her fingertips, and into her bones.

"_Sorry you feel that way. Here's my exit. See you soon."_

Lisbon's eyes opened. Her sobs quieted. She swallowed. Slowly, she sat up, and wiped her wet eyes.

She stared at the ornate elevator door for a long moment. Then, she stood up, and closed her fists. Then, she started toward the exit.

She had made up her mind. It was stupid, and useless now, but she was tired of keeping this to herself—tired of always being so logical, tired of trying to _fool _herself. For the first time, Lisbon was going to do what her _heart _told her to do, even if it was too late, and didn't make any sense.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_You're going to like this. ;) Please review!_

_VVVVVVVVVVV_

Lisbon had to wait most of the day for the area around the warehouse to clear of investigators. She didn't want Hightower finding her and putting her under some sort of house arrest. So she hid in the woods about a hundred yards away, arms wrapped around herself, not moving. No birds sang—they were probably still terrified from the noise and the stench.

Finally, around five o'clock in the afternoon, crime scene tape was secured around the perimeter and everyone went home for the day. Lisbon stayed where she was until the rumble of car engines had died off.

Slowly, she stepped forward, her feet rustling through the fallen leaves and ferns. As she approached the gravel, her blood ran cold, but she pushed on. She ducked under the tape and her shoes now crunched on the stones.

Lisbon stepped over the fallen, charred sheets of metal that had been the warehouse walls, her heels clanking. Mud coated her shoes—the firemen's hoses had been thorough.

She stopped on a small bit of bare concrete amidst the smashed boxes, fallen beams and blackened, twisted machinery. The wind rustled in the trees, but otherwise, everything was silent. She drew herself up and looked around. She swallowed hard.

"What am I doing here?" she whispered. But her gut clenched in answer. She folded her arms, and lowered her head.

"Jane?" She swallowed. "Jane, you'd probably laugh at me…if you were here. I mean, I don't think you'd waste your time doing something as…pointless as this. But I've been thinking about…you know, the last conversation we had, and…" She nudged a piece of metal with her toe. She bit her lip, her voice faint. "I didn't mean it, okay?" She glanced up, searching the blasted walls, her vision going cloudy. "I mean, I'd been up for seventy-two hours, and I…I was cranky and irritated that we'd been taken off the case, but…" She started to shake all over. Her brow twisted and she closed her eyes. "I hope you didn't think I meant what I said. I mean…" She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, then to her forehead. She swore.

She dropped her hand and leaned her head back, letting two tears fall.

"Screw it," she muttered thickly, feeling childish and at the same time sensing that she was bleeding internally. "I should have told you a long time ago, and now it's too late, so there's no point. I'm going now." She spun around, and her foot struck a tool box. She tripped, and fell to her knees.

She thudded to the ground, yelped, then roared and slammed her fist down on a sheet of metal. Choking cries latched onto her and she bent her head, her hair covering her face. She couldn't stop herself. She didn't want to. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped off her nose.

"Jane," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't think I can breathe without you."

She covered her face with one hand, trying to force oxygen into her lungs. But then she went still. Something was tapping. At first she thought it was a woodpecker in the distance. But it was something rapping against a metal surface. She straightened.

_Tap, tap, tap_.

And then…

A muffled voice.

She shot to her feet.

"Who's there?" she demanded, swiping the tears out of her face. The tapping became more urgent, and another cry issued. She swung around, eyes darting across the shattered floor. Kicking a shingle out of the way, she hurried toward a large, crushed filing cabinet that had fallen on its back.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap—_"Lisbon?"

Her heart stopped. Then it thundered so hard in her chest she thought it would burst. Instantly, she got down, put her shoulder against the filing cabinet and threw all her weight against it. Metal groaned as it scraped against the floor. She moved it about five feet, then had to scoot back quickly, for she had uncovered a hole in the floor—some sort of trap door—

"Oh, wow—thanks. I thought everybody had stopped looking."

Lisbon stared down into the hole—right into a pair of brilliant, familiar blue eyes.

Patrick Jane, his face covered in soot, grinned at her and reached a dirty hand up out of the hole.

"Sorry—I need some more help."

Lisbon could not move, could not breathe. And then, with a hand that she was sure couldn't even hold a cup of water, she grasped his fingers.

She sucked in a breath. Her hand met the warmth of his—real, living flesh. She pulled. Grunting, he used his other arm to brace against the floor and pull himself up and out.

"Well, that was fun," he muttered, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. It didn't work—his dress pants, vest and shirt were soaking wet, and his feet were covered in mud. He gave her an irked look. "The firemen were trying to drown me, I think." He glanced back down at the hole. "And nobody was nearly quiet enough to hear me banging on that stupid thing that fell on me." He lifted his face to her. "I think that one of the main skills of an investigator ought to be listening, don't you? Lisbon, are you okay?" His eyes flashed as she reached out and touched his shoulders with both hands. Her fingertips met wet fabric. She swallowed hard.

"Are _you_?" she managed.

His hands caught her elbows as his face filled with concern.

"I'm fine, but I think you need to sit down—you look white as a—"

She couldn't let him finish. Her heart had leaped too high.

She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him toward her and pressed her lips to his. She ran her fingers through his hair, then wrapped her arms around his neck. Fire flared through her, breaking the ice that had settled around her heart.

With a jolt, she leaped away from him. Her cheeks burned, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. Their gazes locked. She wanted to run away.

"I am so sorry," she rasped. "I didn't mean…I mean, I shouldn't have done that. I'm really, really…"

His sapphire eyes did not release her. He advanced on her. Her words of protest melted into nonsense, and before she could retreat, he stepped in and met her lips with his, hard. Her chest lifted and her thoughts fled. Ice and fire raced down her throat. His hands caught her neck and gripped her as he slid his thumbs against her jaw. He kissed her three more times, tasting, memorizing her lips. He lingered, withdrawing only to press back in again one last time.

Then he broke from her, running his bright eyes all over her features. And suddenly, he grinned. Lisbon braced herself for his witty comment. But he said nothing. It was just as if he was seeing her for the very first time—and what he saw made him happy.

He canted his head, and ran his thumb across her cheek. Her fingers closed around the collar of his shirt, and she blushed again, but couldn't look away from him.

"You guys aren't supposed to be here!"

Lisbon twitched and whirled around. A police officer was trotting toward them, reaching for his sidearm.

"It's okay, we're with the CBI—and Lisbon just pulled me out of the ground, actually," Jane said, holding up a hand. "A nice job, by the way. If she hadn't come, I'd probably have suffocated to death."

The officer slowed down and gaped at them. Jane pointed at him.

"Would you be so kind as to give us a ride back to headquarters? That would be great, thanks."

VVVVVVVVV

Jane's resurrection brought everyone flooding back to the office. Controlled chaos ensued, resulting from his report to Hightower that he had managed to evade the alarms on a back window, get inside and discover that there actually were no hostages at all—the murderer had been bluffing. Jane then had discovered the murderer's "back door," however, he had not counted on it also being booby trapped. He had no sooner hopped down through that trap door when the whole building exploded, killing the murderer and his thugs, knocking the filing cabinet down on top of Jane and crushing his cell phone. The tunnel had been built poorly, so the exit collapsed. It had then gotten horrifically hot, and then the water from the hoses had nearly drowned him, and he spent the entire day ankle-deep in mud, yelling himself hoarse. He had almost given up entirely when he said he recognized Lisbon's footsteps.

Now, at nine o'clock at night, Lisbon sat listlessly in the corner, oblivious to the mayhem—watching Patrick Jane move back and forth, describing what had happened, laughing at something Cho said, disappearing and then reappearing with a new change of clothes, teasing a joyfully-tearful Van Pelt, and shining like their own personal sunbeam throughout the whole floor.

Finally, after a dent had been made in the paperwork and everyone expressed general relief and exhaustion, they began to trail out and go home. Lisbon remained, fingering a little origami frog.

"Lisbon."

She jumped and lifted her head. Jane leaned around a corner and met her eyes. Her stomach did a somersault.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Staring into space."

"You're _tired?" _he scoffed, coming up to her. "_What?_ You have no right to be tired." He pointed at himself. "I think _I _get the Worst Day Award this time. It'll take me weeks to get all this dirt out of my hair."

She just looked at him. His smile faded, then turned into a softer one. He glanced at the door and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Hey, you wanna…go get coffee, or something? I know a nice little spot—it's not far from here—"

"No, no thanks," Lisbon ducked her head, her chest going tight. "You go ahead."

"Okay," he said quietly, and turned to leave.

"Jane?"

"Yes?"

She raised her head. He waited, watching her. She shifted one shoulder.

"Did you…I mean, did you hear anything I said when I was…" she gestured helplessly. "Walking around up above you?"

He blinked, and the edge of his mouth lifted.

"Not if you didn't want me to."

She swallowed. His eyes held her for another moment.

"Goodnight, Lisbon."

And she watched his back as he left. Lisbon took a deep, deep breath. It was easy now. Everything was okay. And she knew that everything would go back to the way it was before…

But nothing would ever be the same. And she was okay with that.

"Jane?"

He stopped and turned around, as if he had been waiting for her to call to him. She smiled at him. He returned it.

"Actually," she said, standing up. "Coffee sounds nice."

FIN


End file.
